


Leviathan Rising

by brennagawain



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Mass Effect 3: Leviathan, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 10:06:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7528540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brennagawain/pseuds/brennagawain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of Mass Effect 3: Leviathan, the war data on board the Normandy states that a secret multi-species taskforce was entrusted with locating Leviathan fragments and delivering them behind enemy lines throughout the remainder of the Reaper War. This story focusses on Taskforce Leviathan, featuring a diverse cast of original characters and occasional cameos from the Mass Effect main cast, as they take the fight to the Reapers (while Shepard does all really the important stuff)!</p><p>Prepare for espionage, mystery, romance, action and a lot of aliens!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leviathan Rising

**Author's Note:**

> For the purposes of the story, it is assumed that Shepard undertook the Leviathan content between the Priority: Palaven and Priority: Sur'Kesh missions, and Leviathan Rising starts almost as soon as Shepard has returned from the DLC mission. Most of the rest of what the Normandy is doing will be explained in-story going forward, but a reference here at the beginning seemed prudent.
> 
> Thank you very much for reading <3 It's been a long time since I wrote any fanfiction intended for other people's consumption and I hope you like it.

# Leviathan Rising

ASSIGNMENT 1: RENDEZVOUS WITH TASKFORCE LEVIATHAN

### Chapter 1

“All right, everybody listen up!”

The docks on the Citadel overflowed with activity, ships coming and going like ants outside their nest, and though to Captain Matilda Sonnenfeld it had always felt like an artificial welcome, not on par with the solidity of the ground of a planet beneath her feet, the giant space station accepted their transit without protest. She stared at a hangar bay of marines, champing at the bit to take their first shore leave in nearly four months – they had been on active deployment in the Terminus Systems when news about the Alpha Relay incident hit, and there had barely been time since then – and envied them their ability to enjoy their downtime.

“Oi!” she added, eventually quietening their ruckus. “This is a _three-day leave_ , people, that’s seventy-two hours _exactly_. If you’re not all back here in time to ship out again, I will be forced to hunt you down, and believe me, if it comes to that you’ll long for the days when all you were up against was the Reapers. Are we clear?”

A chorus of amused “yes, ma’am”s rippled through the company as the Alliance Cruiser made its docking approach, what little of the deceleration that could be felt through the inertial dampening making them all rock slightly on their feet. The hangar bay door opened with a hiss, disgorging the rabble almost immediately – she didn’t even bother trying to stop them. They all deserved the break.

“Remember, if you break the Citadel, it’s coming out of _your_ pay!” she shouted after them, shaking her head as they swarmed past the docking officials.

“Captain, you are all clear to disembark,” the pilot of the transport ship, Flight Lieutenant Gemma Addison, informed her, via the com system.

“Yeah, they’re already gone, flight lieutenant.”

The pilot laughed. “I should have known.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Matilda spotted an Alliance officer in full dress uniform, along with another soldier in fatigues, fighting his way through the tide of newly-freed marines, and concluded with a sinking feeling that they were most likely coming to speak to her. There was always some new disaster being passed down from Command.

“What about you, Addison? Care to round up your XO and join us in the bar?”

“No, ma’am,” Gemma replied, a smile in her voice. “There’s a few maintenance checks to run and then we’re picking up another troop of marines, headed for Sanctum. You’ll have to enjoy the nightlife for me.”

“I’ll do my best,” Matilda said, dryly. “Stay safe out there.”

“You, too, capt- uh… captain, I’m getting a priority message from Alliance Command. It says you’re needed urgently at HQ. Shall I patch them through to you?”

Matilda sighed heavily as the approaching officers reached the foot of the ramp up into the hangar bay and continued towards her, looking grim. “No need, flight lieutenant. They sent ground messengers as well.”

 

“Captain Sonnenfeld,” the foremost of the two greeted her, saluting. “Major Hartfield, Alliance Command; this is Lieutenant Sung. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Major,” she acknowledged, returning the salute and shaking the proffered hand, and took in his spotless uniform, wondering if he had ever seen a Cerberus soldier in person, let alone a Reaper. “I assume you’re here about the priority message we just received from Command?”

He nodded, tucking his high-peaked cap under his arm and gazing around at the hangar bay. She could see in his appraising eyes that he was weighing her up the same way she had done him; she saw the shiny, decorated officer who had probably never left Command headquarters, backlit by the artificiality and primness of the Citadel, and he saw the captain of marines in her military-issue fatigues, standing in a ship hangar with all her gear in a footlocker, ready to be shipped away to war at any second. The lieutenant, of course, maintained a carefully blank stare that gave her no clues as to what the message might have been about.

“You are required immediately at Alliance Command headquarters,” Hartfield replied, his gaze finally returning to her. “I’m afraid your shore leave has been cancelled.”

She gaped at him. “Major, I don’t know if you noticed, but we just let over fifty marines loose. We could have used this information _before_ docking! Do you have any idea how difficult it’s going to be to round all of them up and tell them they’re back on-duty?”

“Luckily for all of us, that will not be necessary,” he said, wryly. “My orders only mention you, captain. Your men may go about their leave as normal.”

She nodded reluctantly, glad of that at least. “Understood, major. Can I ask what all this is about?”

“I don’t know much,” he answered, settling his cap back on his head and motioning to the lieutenant. “But I can tell you you’re being reassigned. Admiral Hackett wants to speak to you via the QEC at headquarters, he can tell you more. Lieutenant Sung will take your things.”

Matilda was almost aghast enough to try and stop the lieutenant as he took her gear from her, her jaw falling open again. Reassigned? But… but her company had followed their orders exactly, gotten the job done! Had she missed something, disappointed Command somehow? But “hold off the Reapers until relieved” was fairly straightforward, wasn’t it?

“Don’t look so devastated, captain,” Hartfield continued, sounding amused, as he turned to begin walking back down the ramp, gesturing for her to follow. “I’ve read your record. I’m sure you’ll be back on the ground, rifle in hand, soon enough.”

_See, why does that sound like an insult when you say it?_

She bit back on the words, stalking after him. The last thing she needed, if she was already in trouble, was this nancyboy crying about insubordination. Maybe that was it? She had, she admitted, quite a mouth on her – it came from growing up around farmers and shearers in country Australia – and maybe she’d offended an officer during the course of this last tour? There were no instances she could think of, though, and anyway since the Reapers had shown up everyone had been pretty frugal with radio contact. She must have done _something_ … she’d made it clear to her superiors that she wanted to stay with her troops, after everything they’d been through in the Terminus, and now the Reaper War and being cut off from Earth.

 

Her mind racing, she followed silently behind the major until they had cleared the docking bay security checkpoint, and then was pulled abruptly out of her own thoughts by the sight of an asari woman standing there on her own, wringing her hands anxiously. There were a few marines still hanging around, meeting their families or significant others – mostly human, though there were a couple more asari scattered around, and even one turian – and the lone asari stood out all the more in contrast to all of the reunions going on around her.

“Major, could I have a minute?” Matilda asked, stopping.

He turned to look at her, eyebrows raised, and then took in the same sight she had, understanding alighting on his face. “Of course, captain.”

Her heart like lead, Matilda descended the few steps down into the waiting area, wishing she could muster the same attitude she took into battle with the Reapers for this conversation. On the other hand, throwing a grenade to break the ice might have been considered something of a faux pas, so it wouldn’t have been particularly suitable in any case. But she found no courage in words; a weapon might have been nice, if only for reasons of familiarity.

“Excuse me, are you Thalia?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer. “Corporal James Harrison’s wife?”

No matter how much she tried to personalise these conversations, she always found herself saying the same things – that the men who had been lost had been good soldiers, that they had fought to the last, that she was very sorry to have to bear the news. Usually she conducted them via vidcom, soon after the fact, with all of the soldiers around her still wearing that armour of “make their sacrifice count” to protect themselves from the emotional fallout. Alliance Command had not been able to get hold of Thalia at the time, as she had presumably fled her last-known location on Illium to come to the Citadel, and now, with the knowledge that she was leaving them all behind despite everything, Matilda found it harder than ever to do what she knew she had to.

“I’m very sorry to have to tell you this, Thalia, but your husband was killed in service of his duty, fighting the Reapers.”

She could feel the eyes of the other families around them, watching with mingled sympathy and relief that it had not been them having to have this conversation, as the asari woman began to cry, and Matilda said what she could. About how Corporal Harrison had been a good soldier, and a brave man. That if Thalia went to Alliance Command and explained who she was, they would release his personal effects to her. How sorry she was, again. All of it felt inadequate and hollow.

 

To her great relief, one of the other asari came to comfort the grieving widow, and she finished her speech and took her leave, feeling drained. This was why she hated downtime. It was a million little moments like this, piled on top of each other – at least when you were fighting, there was no time to stop and cry. No confusing reassignments, no paperwork, no people who needed comfort that she couldn’t give. She would rather face a legion of Reapers alone than what always awaited her on shore leave.

“Anyone waiting on you, captain?” Hartfield asked her, once she had rejoined him.

“Only the admiral, major,” she replied, falling in step beside him as they resumed walking.

It was her first time visiting the Citadel in a long time, certainly the first since the war had started, and it rankled with her somewhat that nowhere was there a sign of any change in operations because of it. Aside from Alliance personnel, only the turians actively seemed to be doing more, and even that in itself was something of a smokescreen; it was what the salarians and asari had _found them for_. Humans, too – she wondered if, should worst come to worst and both the humans and turians were wiped out, the two elder Council races would actually start fighting. Or whether they would just cry out for the krogan again. The few Intel briefings she had received on assignment indicated that the turians were already reaching out to the krogan to try and form an alliance, but at least they were fighting. The asari and salarians just wanted a shield to hide behind.

 

She thought of Thalia, of all of the other asari wives of Alliance soldiers, and mentally corrected herself, feeling guilty. The asari and salarian _politicians_ just wanted shields. Their civilians, just like the civilians of any race, wanted the galaxy to be a safe place.

 

Major Hartfield seemed surprisingly comfortable in the Wards, weaving in and out of the crowd as they continued on towards headquarters. With the fall of Earth and the destruction of Arcturus Station, Admiral Hackett had ordered a basic Command outpost cobbled together on the Citadel, to facilitate easier management of all of the Alliance squads being posted around the galaxy. It wasn’t glamorous like all the offices up on the Presidium and the C-Sec Headquarters, but it was busy, and presumably efficiently so. She trailed after Hartfield silently, watching the various soldiers around them going about their business, and wondered if she was being reassigned here. Some kind of Intel job? Or training new recruits? But they had N7s for that…

“Here we are, captain,” the major said cheerfully, shocking her out of her thoughts.

It was a large, squat building, as many in the Wards were, that looked as though it had once been a market of some kind, presumably purchased and refurbished to the Alliance’s needs. Inside, monitors lined every wall and some of the hastily erected partitions as well, various communications officers eyeing them feverishly and occasionally making notes or taking their notes to show to someone else. Major Hartfield negotiated the maze of corridors easily, coming to a halt finally at a desk laid out carefully in front of the only proper room Matilda had seen so far.

“Major Hartfield,” the coms officer manning the desk said, saluting. “Admiral Hackett is available via the QEC for you right now, sir.”

“Thank you, specialist,” Hartfield acknowledged, returning the salute, and then pushed the door open.

 

The room was dark inside, lit only by the glow from the communications monitor, and strewn with cables around a circular central platform. It was the first time Matilda had ever seen a Quantum Entanglement Communicator – in the past her orders had always come via vidcom from Arcturus or direct radio contact in more combat-heavy missions. She wondered how many of them were out there, and whether they were still building them now, given the expenses of the war. The two particles used for communication between this base on the Citadel and wherever Hackett was stationed must have been produced within less than a month, at the very least. While it was useful, she still found herself pondering how many rifles, or grenades – or salaries – this one communications unit had cost the Alliance. Major Hartfield stepped onto the platform and pressed one of the buttons near a blinking green light, and a million luminescent pixels coalesced in front of him, forming themselves into an image of Admiral Hackett that looked so real (aside from the glowing) that it seemed almost tangible.

“Major. Is Captain Sonnenfeld with you?”

Hartfield saluted smartly. “Yes, sir. Sorry about the delay. The captain wanted to speak with the spouse of a recently deceased marine and I thought it best to allow it.”

The image of Hackett nodded solemnly. “Understood, major. I’ll brief the captain now, and speak with you again later.”

Hartfield nodded as well and stepped down, motioning for her to take his place, and she wondered if she would feel anything as the 3D-scanner did its work mapping her to produce the pixellated version of herself that the admiral would see. Anticlimactically, she did not.

“Captain,” Admiral Hackett said, fixing the same stern gaze on her as he always did in person. “It’s been a long time.”

She saluted stiffly, feeling resentful about her reassignment again. “Since that time I specifically requested keeping my assignment and you agreed, sir.”

He gave her a longsuffering look, as though he had known she would say that. “I’m sorry, captain, but this war has meant making choices that some people won’t like. I need this done, I don’t need you to be happy about it.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied woodenly, chastised. “Sorry, sir.”

She was intensely aware that complaints like that to the ranking military officer of the entire Alliance weren’t exactly a good idea, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself. What had she been hoping – that he would say ‘oh dear, I had totally forgotten about that, just hold on while I change the paperwork back now’ despite all the obvious attention that was being paid to the matter?

“Captain, we’ve recently come into possession of a weapon that could help us win this war,” the Admiral continued, gravely. “Commander Shepard and the _Normandy_ won us the assistance of an ancient, aquatic race called the Leviathan, the species that constructed the artificial intelligence that led to the creation of the Reapers. Through artefacts known as fragments, the Leviathan can employ their own version of the Reapers’ indoctrination to control the Reaper creatures and even destroy Reaper capital ships within range. I’m putting you in command of a taskforce charged with retrieving as many fragments as you can find, and using them to turn the tide in key battles.”

Matilda blinked, taken aback, and tried to find something to say in response to… all of that. “If I may, sir… why me?”

“Believe me, captain, serious consideration was put into this appointment,” he replied. “I’m sorry to have to go back on my decision to keep you with your troops, but this is a multi-species taskforce. You trained with the asari when you were young, and you’re one of the few officers I have left who took part in the joint Alliance-turian training ventures. Given your experience in frontline combat, and in working closely with our allies, you’re _it_.”

 

She nodded grudgingly, since his reasons did in fact make sense. “Understood, sir. What sort of asari/turian numbers am I looking at?”

“Major Hartfield has a full collection of the dossiers for you to look over,” Admiral Hackett explained, as the major made a noise of assent behind her. “Given the nature of the mission and how much travel will be required, your command is no longer limited to ground forces. We’ve secured a frigate for the Leviathan Taskforce’s use, and she has a full crew of fifty-four. Roughly a fifth of them are Alliance, with similar numbers for the asari, turians and salarians, and the rest are a mixture of whatever other races were willing to offer their help. The hanar have sent a complement of highly-trained drell as a thank you for our protection of Kahje, and with the Reapers breathing down their necks and the turians bogged down on Palaven, the volus want to make as many friends as they can as well. There’s also a squad of thirteen specialists handpicked to help you deliver your payloads behind enemy lines. You’ll be assigned limited funding and armaments, same as any other frigate in the Alliance fleets, though I believe most of the specialists will be bringing their own weapons.”

For the second time that afternoon, Matilda gaped in astonishment, feeling like some kind of terrible mistake had been made somewhere. “Sir… with all due respect, I’m not Commander Shepard. I’m a marine! I shoot things, and I yell at people. I’m not some… some _hero_ , to go flying through space inspiring people to unite.”

“I’m well aware of that, captain,” the Admiral said, dryly, as Major Hartfield cleared his throat as though he was trying not to laugh. “But the fact remains that out of who I’ve got spare, you’re the best qualified to get the job done on the ground. I don’t have any navy captains lying around to take command of the ship, so an army one will just have to do. I don’t want another Shepard. I just want someone who can take a squad of soldiers behind enemy lines, give the Reapers hell, and then get them back out again. Shooting things and yelling at people will almost certainly be required.”

Out of all of the things he could have said to convince her that this was a good idea, that was probably the best one, but it still didn’t entirely reassure her that someone hadn’t made a mistake somewhere. “Sir, I’m positive I can handle the ground assault and infiltration parts of this assignment, but I know _nothing_ about commanding a warship. I’ve never even served on an active one!”

“Then it’s about time you did,” Hackett said firmly. “This isn’t a request, and no amount of reconsideration is going to turn out anyone better-suited for this job than you. You don’t know anything about commanding warships? Then learn. _Adapt_. It’s what humans _do_.”

She saluted again, knowing an ultimatum when she heard one. “Yes, sir! I won’t let you down.”

He nodded, satisfied. “Good. Some of your specialists have a ways to travel, but the last of them, the salarian company, should be arriving the day after tomorrow. I want you ready to ship out as soon as they’re aboard. I’ve just spoken with your transport pilot, Flight Lieutenant Kenneth Afiniazo, an Alliance fighter jockey we’ve pulled from the Third Fleet – Hartfield will take you to him, and our other Alliance specialist, Major Victor Sarkosky. He can provide you with more information on the taskforce objectives and any briefing material you’ll need.”

“Yessir!” she repeated, feeling defeated.

“Good. Hackett out.”

 

Major Hartfield cleared his throat behind her, and she sighed, stepping down from the QEC platform as Admiral Hackett disconnected the line. The day after tomorrow… that was a day before her marines were going to be shipping out again, which made it unlikely that she’d be able to catch a large amount of them and explain what was happening. She made a mental note to try and find out who would be replacing her, though she wasn’t sure just how much “that’s classified” would get thrown around now that she was working on some kind of secret multi-species taskforce.

“You’ve certainly got some balls, captain, if you’ll excuse the sexist metaphor,” Hartfield said, his tone a mixture of amusement and admiration.

She shrugged, feeling glum. “What was he going to do if I pissed him off too bad, throw me at the Reapers? That’s basically what I want.”

“Indeed,” the major replied, wryly. “I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that the other Alliance soldier being assigned to Leviathan felt much the same way as you do.”

“He’s Airforce, right, a fighter pilot?” she asked, falling in step beside him again. “Is he going to be flying this frigate I’m being handed?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to that, captain,” he replied, somewhat bitterly. “I know exactly as much as you do about this taskforce now. I brought the flight lieutenant here and I’ve listened to the admiral give him the same basic briefing as you, but everything else about what’s going on is so heavily classified I’m not even allowed to _hold_ the NDAs you’ll be signing. It’s ironic, really – I have full access to all information about the Leviathan race that caused this whole thing, an ancient group of aliens that _built the Reapers_ , but absolutely _nothing_ about your ship.”

She frowned, considering. “Doesn’t sound like it’s an Alliance ship, then.”

“My thoughts exactly. And considering our co-development work on the Normandy, a turian ship doesn’t seem likely either, so it’s probably either salarian or asari. I would presume that they will be providing a pilot.”

“Fancy,” she muttered, feeling hesitant.

This all just meant she was going to get into even more trouble if something went wrong with this. So the only solution was to not make any mistakes, or to make mistakes so grandiose that she wouldn’t be alive to be disciplined afterwards.

 

Right. She could do that. Totally. That last part, certainly. When in doubt, throw the thing at the Reapers.

 

They passed back out through the maze of rooms in the communications hub and eventually stopped in front of a rather unremarkable-looking tent in the main part of Alliance Command headquarters, though the fact that it was surrounded by a fence and several guards was something of an indication that important things went on inside. The guards nodded solemnly at the major and let them pass, pressing a button on the fence that made a small buzzing sound inside the tent. As they approached, the flap lifted, and a tall, slim man appeared from underneath, wearing a naval officer’s uniform with “Intel” inscribed in gold across his collar.

“Thank you, Major Hartfield, that will be all,” the new man said dismissively, in a clipped, clear British accent, his eyes fixed on Matilda, as they all exchanged the customary salutes.

“Of course, Major Sarkosky,” Hartfield muttered, resentfully, and then nodded at her one last time before retreating. “I’ll have the personnel dossiers ready for your perusal after your briefing, captain.”

She nodded glumly in acknowledgement, picturing the amount of reading this was going to incur.

“A pleasure to meet you, Captain Sonnenfeld,” Major Sarkosky said stiffly, shaking her hand and drawing her back to the present. “Nice to see you made it back safely from the fighting on Watson.”

 _He really is Intel_ , she thought to herself dryly. _Never met a single Intel officer who wouldn’t tell you what you’d had for breakfast that morning just to show off._

“A lot of the more distant colonies have it easy compared to Earth,” she replied, shrugging, as he waved her inside the tent. “We can hold our own against Reaper ground forces – within reason, at least. The planets with capital ships on the ground, that’s where the real fighting is.”

“Believe me, captain, Destroyers are more than enough trouble to count as real fighting,” another soldier said as she entered, presumably the fighter pilot that Admiral Hackett had mentioned. “You’ve had it lucky indeed if you’ve never even run underneath one of those bastards.”

“Captain Sonnenfeld, meet Flight Lieutenant Afiniazo,” the major interjected, sounding amused, as Matilda and the pilot sized each other up. “Fear not, your new assignment will offer more than enough Reaper trouble to satisfy the both of you. You can compare scars some other time.”

“Welcome to the most mysterious tent in all of Alliance space, captain,” Afiniazo said less belligerently, grinning. “Maybe now that you’re here I can finally get some answers about what’s going on.”

“That would certainly be a nice change of pace from the stonewalling I’ve been getting so far,” Matilda responded wryly, shaking the hand that he offered her.

 

Though both men were fairly tall, Afiniazo was stockier than Sarkosky, and had darker skin, an olive shade reminiscent of Greek or Italian ancestry. The flight lieutenant’s hair was black, the kind of short spikes that spoke of regrowth from a recent buzzcut, while Sarkosky’s Intel posting let him get away with having slightly longer hair, just long enough to devolve into mouse-brown waves. Narrow-faced and thin-lipped, the major wore a harrowed expression complete with furrowed brows over piercing green eyes and several-days-old stubble so well that Matilda wasn’t entirely sure his facial muscles could do anything else; she supposed that sifting through information on what was going on at every single Reaper front in the galaxy could probably do that to you. The brown-eyed Afiniazo, though he looked less harangued, still seemed tired, and Matilda wondered where he had flown in from – somewhere with Reaper Destroyers, no doubt. It was confronting, coming face-to-face with hard evidence that nothing she and her men had done since the invasion began had made any difference whatsoever to their prospects as a whole, that nothing _any_ of their ground forces were doing was making a difference. Sure, maybe they had successfully evacuated a few places, but someday there wouldn’t be anywhere left to evacuate to.

 

She felt a sudden pang of gratitude that her men were even being allowed the shore leave they were taking, and wondered how much further into the war they would last before luxuries such as time off would have to be abandoned.

 

“I’ll try and keep this briefing… brief,” Sarkosky began, unsmiling, as he picked up two datapads and handed them over, one for each of them. “Partially because time is short, but also because there’s quite a backlog of reading and paperwork that you both need to attend to.”

Afiniazo expressed his dissatisfaction at this idea with an exhaled hiss of breath, eyeing the datapad as though it was some kind of torture device. “Remind me again why they thought I would be a good pick for this?”

“ _Because_ , flight lieutenant,” the major continued, tetchily, “as you have been so keen to point out, Reaper Destroyers are something of a nuisance. Taskforce Leviathan needs a gunship pilot who is prepared to fly through swathes of them and come out the other side safely, and you are apparently the most qualified person in the galaxy to provide this service.”

“No pressure, though,” Matilda commented, dryly, as the flight lieutenant’s mouth fell open in disbelief.

“Oh, sure. That sounds like a piece of cake! What’s this reading material you mentioned – a set of instructions for making a will?”

Sarkosky, his mouth set in a thin line, ignored Afiniazo, turning instead to Matilda. “You, captain, will of course be in charge of any forces deployed on the ground. In the main, our planetside operations will largely consist of helping with evacuation efforts, sabotaging enemy strongpoints, and infiltrating behind their lines to plant the Leviathan fragments to allow our new allies to take control of the Reapers.”

She frowned, having trouble applying the language of standard tactical ground warfare to the arena of a battle of attrition against armies of robotic husks led by skyscraper-sized spaceships, but nodded, chilled by the stark realisation of just how important this taskforce really was, and how much was riding on her. It was a hell of a deep end to be thrown into, but considering the loss of Arcturus Station and the massive casualties the fleets had suffered in the invasion of Earth, she believed Admiral Hackett when he said there was literally no one else for the job. It wasn’t the most ringing of endorsements, but under the circumstances she couldn’t really ask for anything more.

 

She cleared her throat, narrowing her eyes, and tried to find somewhere to begin. “These Leviathan – I’m assuming some of the reading material details our intel on them. Can you give us a brief summary, seeing as they seem to be the whole reason we’re here?”

“Very well,” Sarkosky agreed, rubbing wearily at his eyes. “I suppose they _are_ quite important. In short, Commander Shepard and the _Normandy_ derailed briefly to chase a lead from a late colleague of mine, Doctor Garrett Bryson, who believed he had found evidence of a gargantuan unknown spacefaring creature that had killed a Reaper in one of the past cycles. Suffice it to say he was right; and not only that, but the Leviathan were more than any of us ever dared to dream, even those who saw the glimmers of genius in Garrett’s somewhat unsettlingly unwavering belief that such a creature existed. The Leviathan are ancient, so old we don’t have a word in any of our languages to properly describe them – and it was they who first built the Reapers. More importantly for the purposes of our little venture, they exhibit the same kind of Indoctrination effect as the Reapers do, but to such a powerful degree that they can destroy even at least some of the Reapers themselves, and all of their creatures, focussing their abilities through the artefacts that your teams will be delivering behind enemy lines.”

Afiniazo whistled, impressed, and leant back against the desk behind him. “That’s a magic weapon if ever I heard one. So we’re going to be flying around ending the war?”

The major grimaced, shaking his head. “If only it were so easy. Our best engineers have absolutely no clue how to duplicate the “fragments” that the Leviathan use – and our relationship with them is not nearly so friendly as to include the sharing of technology – so a large part of our mission will be taken up by the task of finding and collecting as many as we can. And on top of that, the Leviathan have indicated to us that the Reapers may find a way to develop a resistance to the effects if we make use of them too often. The Alliance’s end-goal for the war is what could charitably be referred to as a longshot; some kind of top-secret project that’s eating up the galaxy’s resources as fast as we can procure them, and it is _our_ job to delay the Reapers until such time as this final gambit can be deployed. Our mandate is to use precision strikes to delay Reaper forces long enough to evacuate major population centres and disrupt the enemy’s main offensive fronts.”

“Are you coming with us, or just acting as a handler?” Matilda asked him curiously, as she began to idly scroll down the list of files in her reading list.

 

… _Leviathan; Dr. Bryson, Garrett (Alliance); Fragments; Fauss, Mellik (Council Aeronautical Cooperative); T’paal, Firia (Serrice Starflight Academy); AML Golden Vanguard; Asari/Human Intelligence Relations; Eagle Nebula; Relic System; Fitful Current; First Land; Rough Tide; Preying Mouth; Beach Thunder; The Kite’s Nest; Harsa System; Indris System; Cholis; Camala_ …

 

“I’ll be accompanying you,” Sarkosky replied crisply, causing Matilda to look up gratefully from her glimpse of the verbose future that awaited her. “However, I will be undercover. Which leads me to the next segment of our briefing – the frigate you have been assigned command of, captain, is not an Alliance vessel. Due to the impact of this taskforce on a galactic scale and its importance in slowing the Reapers’ advance, Admiral Hackett made its existence known to the highest levels of each race’s government and opened channels for interspecies cooperation. With extreme reluctance, because the Alliance has no ships to spare and because they presumably see it as the best chance to stop the war reaching them at all, the asari have provided us with a highly-advanced ship, so advanced that the Alliance stands to make an immense technological leap forward if we can duplicate or reverse-engineer any part of its construction.”

“We’re _spying_ on the asari?” Afiniazo demanded, astounded. “ _Now_?”

“We wouldn’t have to if they hadn’t flatly refused to share the knowledge of the vessel’s construction,” Sarkosky replied coolly, unperturbed by the flight lieutenant’s disapproval. “Even _now_ , as you say, when everyone could benefit the most. Almost certainly one of the salarian crewmembers aboard will be doing the same, and the asari government is not happy about it. They insisted on vetting every crewmember before approval was finally given.”

Matilda sighed, wondering why Intel officers were always so intent on making things more complicated than they had to be. “So, do you have a fake name we have to learn?”

“As a matter of fact, captain, I do not,” he replied, sounding faintly amused. “Before my transferral to Intelligence, I was a Chief Engineer aboard the SSV Budapest with the Second Fleet. My personnel file as seen by the asari government came complete with glowing references.”

Matilda frowned again, thinking. “The asari agreed to putting me in command? They didn’t have a matriarch or something that they would prefer to have in charge?”

“The asari are trying their damnedest to stay as far out of this war as they can,” the major replied, grimly. “As far as I can tell, no matriarch wants to be the first to openly partake in hostile action against the Reapers. They would rather outsource that responsibility to us, and frankly I’m more than pleased to see it. Any asari or salarian commander would be bound by political influences from their own races. If the turians weren’t so bogged down on Palaven, I would likely have recommended requesting an officer from Primarch Victus though – no offence, of course.”

Matilda grunted, unbothered. “Believe me, if you can find a willing turian to take over the ship, I’ll gladly cede to their naval authority. I am _not_ trained to command a warship.”

Sarkosky shrugged. “Perhaps later, if we can turn the tide on their homeworld. For now, your best will have to do.”

 

Not particularly comforted, Matilda returned to scrolling through her briefing material idly, noting that after the first page or so they mostly turned into intel that had been gathered on various planets and systems throughout the galaxy where their excursions might end up taking them. There were casualty rates, traffic reports on mass relay travel, briefing packets on economic losses and important mining and fuel facilities… she could hear Afiniazo in the background, asking Sarkosky what exactly he would be flying, but there was so much information to take in that she barely registered the response and continued conversation. She frowned, perusing a statement about Reaper soldier-factories in batarian space, and then looked up when she heard her name.

“…as Captain Sonnenfeld has so astutely discerned, you really do have rather a large amount of reading to do, so if we could finish up and deal with the non-disclosure agreements?”

“I have one more question,” Matilda interjected, making one last flip through all the files to make sure she hadn’t missed what she was looking for. “Admiral Hackett mentioned a team of specialists. Is the information on them not in here?”

“Ah – you are correct,” Sarkosky responded, handing her a second datapad that presumably contained the NDAs she needed to sign. “Their files are all in the personnel packets that Major Hartfield will be giving you. None of them are Spectres or spies of their various governments, so none of their dossiers are classified, not even the batarian operative, to my great surprise. I’m sure you’ll be pleased with them all; the Admiral has procured quite a formidable team.”

“Can you give me a basic idea of who I’ll be dealing with?” Matilda pressed, though she readied her stylus-pen to sign the forms as the major flicked her an irritated look.

“Hm… very well. As I said, there is one batarian operative, one of the few that the Alliance has no problem with, although that might just mean that he is particularly clever. One volus, a biotic specialist, who is the daughter of an _extremely_ rich merchant here on the Citadel – if at all possible, please try to keep her alive, at least – and one elcor, who I can assure you will be invaluable for planetside operations. Then there are several mercenaries from various races… one ex-STG salarian soldier… an experienced recon scout from one of the turian Armiger Legions… and, oh – yes, a highly-decorated squad of asari commandos…”

 


End file.
